THE TWO PERFECTLY LOVELY FELLOWS

Before they had gone far it developed that young Fuller Bullson and his friend, Raysor Rackette, were born for the sake of Pee-wee, notwithstanding that they had been born some years before our hero’s advent on earth. They were exponents of the very type of adventure which Pee-wee had invented.

According to their account they gloried in not knowing where they were at. Indeed they were somewhat in advance of Pee-wee, for while he used moss and the gentle breeze to guide him, they used just nothing at all. A compass they regarded as superfluous, since they did not care in which direction they went.

“Trails we don’t care about,” said Ray Rackette, “because most of them go somewhere. The ideal trail is one that goes around in a circle and doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Like the equator,” said Fuller.

“The equator is good,” said Ray; “so’s the tropic of Cancer.”

“How can you follow the equator when you can’t see it?” Pee-wee demanded.

“All the more fun,” said Fuller; “if you don’t see it, it doesn’t worry you.”

It was very amusing to see these two sitting side by side on the fender, dangling their legs, with apparently not the slightest curiosity about where they were going.

“That’s one thing I don’t like about the Earth,” said Ray; “it travels in an orbit; you know just where you’re going. Otherwise I like it.”

“Oh, the Earth isn’t so bad,” said Fuller. “You’re crazy!” Pee-wee shouted. “Railroads go to places; everything goes to places. You have to know where you’re going.”

“No you don’t, Scout,” said Fuller in a way of thoughtful consideration. “The way we go on a vacation is the best way. How about that, Ray?”

“Absolutely,” said Ray.

“Now at Hydome this is the way we do when vacation comes around,” said Fuller. “The first thing we do is to throw ourselves off the track. Let me explain to you. We decide that we want to go somewhere—”

“There, now you see!” Pee-wee said. “You admit—”

“Just a minute, Scout. We decide that we want to go away. That is the only place we have in mind. We next go down to the railroad station in Hydome. In the ticket office is a ticket agent. Behind the ticket agent are a lot of pigeon-holes all full of tickets. I was born on the sixth of the month and Ray here was born on the seventh. That makes thirteen, an unlucky number—”

“I was born the day before the Fourth of July,” Pee-wee vociferated.

“So we count six pigeon-holes to the right and then seven pigeon-holes down,” Fuller continued. “Then we say to the ticket agent, ‘Sir, we would like two tickets out of that pigeon-hole.’ The idea is not original, it was derived from the grab-bag. Then follows an altercation with the ticket agent, but in the end we triumph.”

“Like me, I always triumph,” said Pee-wee.

“We then look at our tickets to see where we are going. Sometimes we count three across and ten down so as to change our destination. Only the numbers must make thirteen or else we won’t have any bad luck. Last summer we went to a little village in— Where was it, Ray?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Ray.

“Well, it was somewhere,” said Fuller; “we found that out later. When we got out at the station we started up the road and stopped at the third house we came to—we always do that. But this summer we took the Drerie’s summer resort book after we had discovered that we were going to Snailback Impoliteness or whatever you call it and we turned to Snailback and went over the ads. counting eenie, meenie, minee, mo, and mo landed us at the Snailback House.

“So here we are, on our way to Good-for-nothing farm. Everything happens as it should, only different. Summer before last we got off at—oh, what was the name of that place in Wisconsin where we tried to follow the shore of a lake because somebody said that when you’re lost it’s always best to follow water? We came out just where we started. There was good fishing there. I don’t know whether the lake had any name or not.”

“You’re supposed to follow the streams,” Pee-wee said contemptuously.

“Yes, but you see, Scout, we’re fond of going around together so we followed the shore of the lake. We got the idea from a barrel-hoop.”

“You’re crazy,” Pee-wee informed them, “but just the same I like you.”

“Thanks awfully Scout, we’re crazy about you.”

Pee-wee had up to this time cautiously refrained from mentioning Hope Stillmore for fear that on hearing of her, the party (and especially the two perfectly lovely fellows) would still wish to go to the Snailsdale House. But now that they were almost at the farm he spoke rather freely, and rather untactfully.

“Anyway, will you stay at the farm?” he asked. “Because, gee whiz, it’s a dandy place and there was a girl there named Hope Stillmore and she was partners with me making this float and we were going in the parade up at Snailsdale and then all of a sudden a feller by the name of Braggen came and got her away, but anyway I punched a hole in his straw-hat for him—”

“Great!” said Ray.

“Bully for you!” said Fuller.

“You don’t even know him,” said Pee-wee.

“We hate him without knowing him,” said Ray.

“And when he told her that you were coming up to the Snailsdale House, and all these people but especially you, do you know what she did? She made her mother go up to the Snailsdale House, because she’s so crazy about fellers and dancing and all that, and West Point uniforms but, gee whiz, I’ve got a scout uniform and that’s just as much of a uniform as a West Point uniform, isn’t it?”

“Positively,” laughed Chesty Marshall; “more so.”

“So I say we all stick together,” Pee-wee continued enthusiastically, “and stay at the farm and that’ll serve her right and then she’ll wish she was back again because, gee whiz, I can see she’d like you a lot. Anyway I have to admit she’s pretty. But, gee, she didn’t have a right to go back on me when she was my pal, did she?”

“She was horrid,” said Pocahontas Gamer.

“Scout,” said Fuller Bullson, “they’re all alike.”

“They’re not!” said Pocahontas Gamer; “I don’t care anything about you and your dancing, so there.”

“We get you,” said Ray; “I mean they’re all alike only different.”

“So you will stay?” Pee-wee asked excitedly. “And we’ll kind of have a conspiracy and—”

“Scout, we’re with you to the death,” said Fuller Bullson.

“Hssh,” Ray whispered to Pee-wee; “the old fellow inside is worth a barrel of money; his name is Koyn and he wears a check suit—and all the checks are certified. He’s very high and mighty. Shh, he’s going to buy the Drerie Railroad and close it up. If the farm strikes him right, we’ll hold him up and make him come across with a brass band. His whole family is coming up.

“We’ll pull off a couple of pink teas and have a barn dance and make Trotsky in there play his fiddle and we’ll have Stillwater Hopeless asking for an armistice inside of a week. It’s all over but the shouting, Scout. Goodmere Farm is the best place I’ve never seen. Goodyear tires may be the best in the long run but Good-bye Farm, or whatever you call it, is the best in the long walk. Shh. I’m glad you confided in us, Scout. And you can see the advantage of not knowing where you’re going to.”

“And—and if you start out again like that,” Pee-wee asked excitedly, “and get tickets that way, can I go with you? No matter how far it is?”

“Absolutely,” said Fuller Bullson.